Furtheron

I'm listening to Bill Murray by Phantogram. I woke up at 6 from a carnival of dreams. Now I'm listening to Come and See by Protomartyr. I heard it on KVRX after work driving on 2222 to Jan's. I love the chaos... I meant chorus... {: make a me happyer e'ery day... dairy err... blair evanssss.... Arbucks,,,,,, vluck.

Nuthin'. Some huys masturbated in a sort of movie in my dream and one guy masturbated a horse, they all ejaculated. Oh he ejaculated instead of the horse. Mom later asked me to check the sink (in her house), I figured she meant to check it for semen and I was a little embarrassed. Thankfully it was clean. but there were some pans on the counter and a puddle of some white stuff that looked like cinnamon roll frosting, but I assumed it was semen, so I covered it with parchment paper... I was at a gate outside, mom and others went inside, I was stuck outside. There was a hole where men were supposed to put their canes thru and collect them on the other side. I figured I could slip thru it and and join the rest, it was wide and thin, and I put a cane thru to balance myself and slipped thru perfectly. I happily joined Mom then wrote an advertisement for myself as a comedian. I write Boffo! with an upside down ! at the start. I drew a face. I wrote The Best Comic of age 24. I wanted to write Best Comic under 18 or 18 or under, but then I remembered my real age and asked mom how old I was.  .... Tim showed me his video game. I was complex 2D maybe 32 pixels it had a multilayer world map on an island, the game looked just like an old mario, playing as mario, but in in 3 dimensions. he made link one of the enemies.

Now it's almost 7. I;m listening to Twin Peaks by surfer blood.

Combination: Living in my family's decisions, warm weather, bad food, aloneness, internet, silly far away job, fearful wishful surreal dreams, old tv old structures old blankets... I feel I am living the past and I am someone else...Nothing is anything by itself, nothing is same after you think about it...

Two cocks by Lower dens. Kit should be here in two hours and we should be in bastrop in three hours... So Fast, So Soon. Float On... I want to make a table game called Outgrow with totally unique unrepeatable mechanics... So painful to be myself? Or be with myself? By myself? Our perpetual throats. I may call my space story Furtheron.


. .

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It's almost too mucking fuch. Ha, I got away with evil words!

No one is here, here, or here.

I am always alone. Everyone is. Alone together.

Do a friend a favor.

I have less than 30 minutes until I shall leave for work. Lower Dens are Bad ASS!! {: hehe, SXSW affects me slightly.

jake, agent cooper with a patchy mustache finding jacques renault in my dream

The Gifted Children, neutral milk hotel, milk neutrals acid house

all we us, bus to Tacoma, Lewis New troll Mill Coat 'ell, Mutual Nil Code L, Quetzecoatl

Dubious Reluctance Apology Schooner Schematic Roland PG RPG Nude Captcha Capaweara

Pieces of cake being born

You're so much like yourself, that I don't even know anyone else.

What Where Why

What can I do-oooo-oooo

I have thought about you... too much... today

Where can I go-oooo-oooo

where I will want... to... stay


I know exactly how to save my life

It's so easy, I just don't... know why, I haven't tried it before


Or is it just meeeeeee, meeeeeee, meeeeee.... just me, why, oh why... Damn, I can...

I'm alone, and all I want... is the YouTube survivors.

We have survived on YouTube till now...

I'm alive! ... and all I want is to live...

Am I done... I believe, not by a long shot...

So, there you go

I dreamed that Pat Tim and I sat somewhere and I told them my dreams from earlier in my dream.Tim timidly said he dreamed he and Ashley were doing it and then adult cream, his way of saying semen. He didn't finish the sentence, and I saw a mat or something on the floor in front of me and it had different colors written on it and I guessed Orange? and He agreed, so his semen had been orange, but it wasn't disgusting, just a little uncomfortable, and I thought of orange cream, like desserts.

I went to the library and saw Stacy. On the way I knew it would be hard. It was even harder than I thought. I couldn't speak for a few minutes. I kept crying and trying to talk, say anything, but my throat was so tight and I just had to try to breathe. I just decribed things. The trouble comes when I try to explain things I don't understand, especially myself.

I felt all right at the end. My eyes were salty. I drove back to the library. I rolled the car windows down. I went in and talked to Kathleen, thanked her for recommending me, said I am excited about the temp job. I felt very good about doing that. Not just that hopefully Kathleen appreciated it and it could help me land the job, but just to be in control and to follow thru with a good idea and for it to go well.

I read a page of Self-Meaning. It is turning me inside out, as I put it in a text to Aaron. Yesterday, I wanted to say, 'Life is weird' to Chad, but didn't. Then he said to me, Daylight savings time is weird... so I said Life is weird in general, he agreed. Then I said I'm going on lunch, and he said, On that note.. I'm gonna go ponder. I said yeah.

I ate some stuff. I look forward to going back to Bridgett's apartment. I should shower in a minute. I need to leave for work in about an hour. I am not boring. I have about three more days of being alone in the apartment. I see Kit and Mom in two days, on my day off. It's so easy to waste time by doing a job. I don't even want to call it work. Work is supposed to be good. I'm just playing along with tradition to survive.

I'm listening HSPTL by open mike eagle. It's kooky and lovely.

All the paragraphs start with I, Oh Well, Bye, Myself... I'll be you again.

Crazy Late Morning Dreams

Jake, chad and i are closing. In the back, jake calls me to the chip corner. He kneels at a uboat with some boxes. He says that me and Joe need to stop leaving before all the work is done, leaving it for the rest of them. He is upset. His face is angry. He says I went from Kaitlyn to Kate. I think he means which girl I flirted with, or maybe just moving from one checkout line to another. Kaitlyn is the small pretty blonde, who jake is interested in. I don't remember saying much to her. I don't who kate is. I think she may be the black girl, but I don't want to say that becuz it sounds offensive. I ask him who Kate is. He seems confused and more upset. Chad thinks its funny that I ask, like they all think I do know. Jake and I walk off into an airport or something. We sit down at a Mcdonalds. He is moody and I talk to cheer him up. I say, how can you be sad, we're in a mcdonalds and the world is grey. Outside a window it looks grey. I start to ask if he wants a chocolate shake and fries, but really I do, but I'm ashamed so I rethink it. There is a passed out girl, some guys are joking about her or violating her. Then we're in the middle bedroom at Mom's. Guys ejaculate on the girl. Then she's awake, she likes it. A lot of semen puddles around her, but in a pleasant cartoon way. Then we're on a beach at the edge of the water. There is a chubby guy laying in the water being ejaculated on. I somehow got onto a gay porn website. Now I'm at a computer, desperately closing tabs, like someone just walked in. the computer is slow and there are pop ups.

At night, Pat and I, maybe others, drive down a long driveway in the country near bastrop. Pat doesn't know where we're going, but I recognize the area and say we're going to the new Bastrop Opera House, and I've been here once for a school something. It is green and hazy outside. Then we see a big stone sign saying bastrop opera house, and he believes me and I feel validated. We pull up to a cool dark disney-castle-like mansion. Everyone is dressed victorian style. I have a huge fanlike object, like for fanning oneself. But it is a camera. I think about how to use it, where to point it. I am eating it too, it may be chocolate. I have two. I try to take a picture of Pat and Mom and others walking down stairs, lots of colors in their clothes. I don't get it. It is hard to walk down the stairs, they get very narrow, something is written on one, like 'don't step here.' I feel like I'm in heels. Near the front we see a photo of Ashley and some family. She is holding her bare belly a little puffed out like she's pregnant becauze she is. I wonder aloud what she'll look like at nine months. Pat explains that in couple months when she's six months, she'll have a big round belly. I remember and talk about a joke she put on facebook telling Rand Paul he'd better help take care of their baby. Rand paul responded by saying he'd do everything he could to help. I decided it really was rand paul's baby. I joked with pat about him telling the press he did not have sexual relations with that woman, ashley. That it'll be weird that we know that woman. There was some mission or game, like a mystery at the opera house, but all this talk was outside, becauz it is like a ren fest. We don't do or look at anything, just walk and talk. We realize we're at the end then decide to turn around and take part.

Some things have changed me again. Chronological order does not matter to me here. It is late night. I have been at the apartment for almost an hour. I threw away weeks of Domino's waste. I spent a while at Bridgett's apartment. I fed the pets. I had a tickle in my penis, and I thought I was going to poop. I tried to pee, but nothing came out and it stung so much. I just kept crying. I actually frowned too, because the pain, the attention I gave to it, and the reasons for it made me sad. I thought it was just from using moisturizer to masturbate and getting it in my penis, but I got over that initial stinging. I realised tonight that eating and drinking really irresponsibly probably affects my peeing. I think I was dehydrated. I drank a glass of water and another glass of about a fourth cranberry juice and the rest water. I found a bottle of All Cranberry in Bridgett's fridge, and I figured she wouldn't notice some missing. On the note she wrote that I could have the nut balls in the fridge and that they look like turds. They are chocolatey and taste all right.

I am trying to have good posture. I'm not trying hard. My body tingles and aches. I think I might have diabetes. I think it is strongly possible. I am listening to Morning Phase, because it is quiet. I was going to type, "I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor". That is 25 or 6 to 4. What does that mean?

I tried to meet Ashley tonight, but she said she was too tired to do anything, so I did not go to her apartment. I imagined spooning her in my bed. I have to see Stacy Tuesday. No pizza rolls will be wonderful... or some appropriate work. I am sitting back on my bed in a very bad posture. Why is my instinct bad? Who is everyone? My back can't support itself, just like me.

I listened to an NPR show about American side show folk. It was amazing. A woman born with no legs was sold into the circus as a child. She had a good attitude.
- Suddenly very sleepy. I brushed my teeth.-
Some other circus women were interviewed. The program mentioned black people involved in circuses. I thought of The Bluest Eye. It seems like mythology but 100% true.

Also I heard a guy tell his story of having a twisted colon and almost dying. As I sat on Bridgett's toilet and cried due to a burning incapacity to urinate, I looked at my hands and arms, at the pores and scratches, and I re-realized that I have a vulnerable mortal body, and my actions have consequences. I sang a song in which I repeated "I just realised..." many times in a few evolving variations. First "realised" was three syllables then two. It sounded like "Adjust real eyes." At the end, I sang, "... that I'm alive." I think it's a good song. Suspenseful and rewarding, at least for me. So things are slow.

I listened to James' Song from Twin Peaks a couple times just a bit ago. I posted it on facebook. Dumb website for me. I remember last week I was obseesed with Paul F Tompkins. Lots of things are accidents. Sometimes life is better that way, but usually not. We need to mean what we do.

So much... so less... so better... I better... I. Peeing tons of joy and tears.

Where does it end... How late will I be awake... How much shame can I feel... How much of the silly earth can I change... People of earth... What can I do best... Ellipses instead of question marks. I am afraid to ask. No one will answer. I have to answer myself.

Bye Now, By Now, Be Now

Yesters

I work at a hotel place/store. I do stuff. I move a cart a little. There are people. Girl work, talk. Lady tree indoors, raise ceiling, ten feet, grow wide, boss.............

The whale is stuck in jail
The snail is posting bail
The kale is overgrown
The mail is on the phone
The tone is off the rail
The cone is full of shale
The bone is never shown
The cone is in the zone

Dam

Pat and I walk in a large remote park alone. There are small trees and shrubs, it's cloudy, we're in a clearing. He picks up huge rocks and throws them at me for fun, like he wants to force me to move out of the way. It really bothers me. He tries to hit me, throwing fast. I worry that I may not dodge them all. He almost hits me in the knee and the head. The rocks must weigh 30 pounds. I have some kind of small animal on me, like a monkey companion, who I also have to protect.

A man like a professor, like freakonomics, sits at a desk booth thing among objects. I go to him, the space is vague, white. The are some people sitting around some stuff waiting. He asks me questions and does a little experiment. He tells me to forget about all tense, like future. I say I'll just focus on camping tents. He smiles at my pun and says Good joke or something but I see pity in his face. He pours mayo from one jar into another on a shelf. He asks if there's anything other than mayo in it. I say I thought I heard a paper fall into the mayo, but that I think he tricked me. He says I can search thru the mayo. Somehow I associate tense with paperclip, maybe it's tin. He seems like David Foster Wallace. I say there is only mayo and I imagined a paperclip. I tell him I really want to get this right. He says nothing. There are no right answers, he just waits to see my reaction and my ingenuity. There's another experiment when he asks me if I understand by seeing or feeling emotion, is it sensible or intelligible. I say I like to be excited about life. The last experiment is about an old story about an actress who had her big toe cut off. I can't figure it out and I give up and walk away.

I meet Pat. We're in Mom's backyard. He did the experiments too. He tells me about the actress who lost a toe, named Frances B. He succeeded at that part. He teases me for not knowing and slices across the top of my right big toe with a serrated knife, it stings and I'm upset. I try to get away. He laughs and slices again in the same spot. I feel the teeth run along the broken skin. I see a red line across my toe but blood's not coming out.

Wake up scared, make a noise, and toe feeling exposed and tender.

A Poem to Amass in Her Bowels

Don't get a hysterectomy unless it saves your life!

Life grows in you!

You poop joy every day!

Gut-curdling smells are unique and heavenly.

Stop the stomach contents from spewing out your nostrils!

Human organs juggle the chemicals shuffling through space.

Secure your dangling cellular tissues tightly and squeeze the life into yourself!

Shit your body-at-this-time out of the vortex of dark matter!

Retrain your vision on the curious shapes that conspire all around you!

Sell your bladder on the black market.

Burn the house on the farm for insurance.

I stopped loving time.

I crept backwards and found the love deceiving me.

Askew aural prejudice damages our delight, then we fight.

Quick, beat the tortoise to the finish.

Shame won't quit. I'm too ashamed to quit.

Push, push, push, sow sticky hormonal fluid into the crumbly crust!

Reap the baby!

It's enough to be necessary and to feel the heat.

Change Eyes!

I god-damnit jesus-shitting masturbated a few hours ago, and I now I got a tickle in my penis. It's annoying, but it's more annoying that I let myself look at porn and aroused myself.

I was watching Friend Zone. It's still playing on mute.

Yesterday was Tuesday, I volunteered at the library, and I thought This is good (good for me). Work was hard. I ate pizza rolls like I planned. I watched the premier of season two of Twin Peaks; I forgot it is an hour and a half. I like it quite a bit.
When I think of it in Aaron terms, it feels like a waste of time, like a step into a grave. That image pleases me though. It feels like slapping a suffering person in the face. Like I think, "You're life might get better. Someone else can help you, or you can help yourself. My life is great, so I'm just going to do this, because I want to and I feel like it will make my life more complete, but it won't."

I went to Mom's library today, because she wanted to give me Watership Down audio book to give to Tim.

I talked to Aaron on the phone about Tim moving out maybe in May and about futures. He wants me to find a better job or read Improving Moral Decision Making.

I don't want to die? I want to live my full life, like there is some kinda shape in the future that I should fill by making good decisions? What is music speaking to? What does music say to us? Why do we make music? What do we want? Life! When do we want it? Forever. There is some kinda of recording device outside of nature (everything) that makes everything eternal; nothing can be undone or forgotten.

What are we? Exactly what we experience. We must be aware. We must acknowledge the truth. We must take part in creating what is. We must sustain logical progression. We must define ourselves and our context. We must pull ourselves out of the inside and put everything inside ourselves.

I mean it. I don't know what it means. I want to try to be actual and live actually. I want to use life and be of use.

I should apply to Tuesday morning... Dad... Deb... Dead... Daid... Shed... Sabe... Eff... Deaf... Left... Crest... Best... Lest... West... Nest... I am correct... I shall be a beaver... I shall believe the toast of many underlings behaving sorrily toward the highest pleasure and relive the science given in praise of total sincerity.

BI! -GregBerg

This Morning, Time is Careful

Listening to episode 19 of The Pod F. Tompkast. I feel the need to listen to his voice. I woke up for the last time about 15 minutes ago. I skipped the word "die" in my last post. I have been feeling suicidal lately, but more so I've been thinking about suicide. It made me laugh last night. We had a lot to do at work and it was getting late, so I thought, I don't want to do this, I'm going to kill myself, then I felt better and took work less seriously. Tim is playing WoW loudly. He was at Casey's for a while and came back with games. I was pretty hungry and I decided to eat Totino's pizza rolls last night. I did and they tasted pretty good, but I'm ashamed. I also ate ice cream. Hmm.

Some disgusting folded toilet paper stacks with brownish stains on them. Terrence from work figured out that someone's girlfriend, like Tim's, not Chelsea, had wiped her vagina on them and given them to Tim I guess it was as an erotic keepsake. (I think Pat and Bridgett showered together last night after I got here, and Tim and Chelsea did last weekend as I watched a kid's show with Asher. Last night when they went into the bathroom I thought how disgusting it is to me.)
I am at a woodland mansion. It's almost like a secret military complex. There are lots of official men there. There is a canyon and hills. Everything is brown or mossy. There are pipe and tunnels and grate and gutters. There is some complex game happening. There are lots of green M and M's stuck in the pipes. Or something small and round. Guys use long bendy sticks to unstick them. I leave and walk over to the front of the mansion. There are nice compact courtyards with viewing benches. It's a little too enclosed for me. I think there is a front wall. I go inside and I am in the kitchen. It's pretty big. I start to open cupboards to find food. A butler opens a rotating cupboard and spins it to show me what's inside. On the bottom there is a wide roll of butcher paper, and when it spins it looks circular because it's spinning so fast it blurs together. I don't see anything else. I don't remember more.

Bye!! I am going to be my best! See ya Tomorrow!

Not Everything, Not Obvious

I will not say everything. I cannot say everything. I do not want to use the word "everything". I am listening to Michael Showalter's stand up. What's a thirsty animal? That's what he asked. He's so good at relating to people. He is profound talking about the human condition. Ice Cream! I will SOON!!! I am Greg Wredberg. I am 6'1" or something, I weigh about 140 pounds, and I have dark blonde hair and a short scruffy beard. I have blue eyes or green eyes. I am floating on the surface of existence... I'm like a water bug. On this youtube video, there is a picture of Showalter in high school. He or someone has labeled it with all his flaws, making fun of his haircut, clothes, face, acne. At the bottom it says Too many layers and has three arrows pointing at his clothes. Too many layers also describes his way of thinking. He thinks about how others might think of him, he analyzes his own thoughts and behavior. I think I relate to him this way. He is gentle in a bitter way. I am also trying to describe myself. He is describing his three cats and the audience is enjoying it. I work at five and it's 2:43. I should take a shower. I am waiting. Place. Places you'll go. Better place. Life enjoying. Transcending nature. He ended with a story about masturbating and peeing on himself.

I have to go on. I have to overcome. Tree ripe healthy snacks. Transcend myself. Control. Attention. Excellence. Perfection. Completion. Mumbling. Uniqueness. Solitude. Oneness. Standing. Crying. Detail. Connection. Elation. Peace. Good bye.

Yolen Enterprise

William Shatner's daughter's name might be Janet Yolen. He has kept her out of the public eye. We have seen an old photo: she stands on the sidewalk outside her house behind her father. Maybe he or she holds a balloon. The image is yellow and washed out, probably from the 70s. She announces a spaceship she designed, similar to the Enterprise. I somehow get on. I walk around and look. It looks like a regular office. I see Sitara. I follow her. I call her name, but it seems that she does not hear. I worry that she ignored me, because I am not supposed to be here. I think she goes to the bathroom, so I wait. I meet her on the way back to her desk. She seems glad to see me. She seems worn out. She is wearing sweats I think. We chat, and I give her two pennies. Then I see Praveena at desk a few feet away. I say, "Hello, Praveena." I give her a penny, my last one, and say, "Merry Christmas," but it's not Christmas. As I walk away (or roll away on a chair, it feels), she notices Sitara got two pennies and objects. I say that it's a valuable antique penny and two thousand years old, which it cannot be. I do not even think it's a real penny; part of it is blank. She seems satisfied. Whatever happens next.

I was up till 4, reading myself

Me and Nikki we in a large studio place, I was cohosting Alex's radio show, but he wasn't there. I convinced Nikki to be a part of the show. I started the show and I sounded very high pitched. I was mostly confident about what to say. I enjoyed hearing myself.
I walked along a highway in a place like LA. I walked up a hill next to a large plastic white pipe. There was an old white lady and two youngish black guys. They all talked about how they talked differently and about society in general.

Examinations During Daytime Living Moments

This is Time. Time looks to the left but doesn't see Big Ass Asteroid shooting fast and getting big and bigger. Weiners are for copulation. In a small private dim bathroom, Time shoots electric piss into a crappy toilet bowl. Bits of bright red meat squeak between 17 pearly gross teeth. Time sits like a lady on an insane white bed beside the Huge Love-filled Window. Time goes for a damn walk like a busty Jew, when Hollandaise rubberneckers gawk from the stony water fountain. Cellulose phosphorous teams against the nitrogen and oxygen soup that spills through us and Time, making little girl neurons jump like boys on bobcats in the swampy neighborhood of potential ideal recognition. Time slips up at roofing a mad house living in TV superstar body images. The sky lemur shoots his gigantic black furry tail down to the earth and decrees, "You are fired, young Time!" Time sits still on a woody beam twelve feet above the floor. Orbs of H(subscript2)O tap on each square inch of existing matter in a 2,140 feet radius of Time. Time sees less and less, as photons recede into deep space and into Time's viscous vision spheres.

Here we are, alone. The time raptors tear our global feet into internet-based, pan-seared tropical vegetables. Time spares and separates a grumpy munky from living too long on a desk made for Latina businesswomen in the 2040s. Safe sex is not for Big Ass Asteroid. Destroying life models is fun for a while but not for Time. Likable grass surfaces eat plain pita. Time plans on having every fourth grader out for learning practices. The schedule in corrected. Super burgers are good life achievements. You, know? Some times look forward, but behind the seeing cubes a trite fortune corpses toward slight speculation and infinite dissonance.

Kinda The End.

Love, greg

Creamy Life

Dianne the Man. I want to work on a farm. Nothing is better thasn life. Living hard with a big bundle of sacks in my arms. Living into the night, living into tomorrow. Having enormous bowel surges. Leaking pouring rumbling, extracting bountiful gut reaping wrenches. Singing lofts of hay burping cursing shitting bawling wailing eating. I am harmonious. The level divider, the wind, hooping screening, liquid factions days living hording. I bounce off grass into little eaters' eyes legs winding up cracking down, simple arms careening caressing lifting pushing through the sphincter elevating bursting barfing relaxing enjoying. I impale Science Graves. Laughing doctoring careering. I implore beginners, exacters, deciders. I excel through waters, fibers, nitrogen, respiratory bacteria, detritus fungus, juicy plantae. I demand roads, agriculture, beans, artifacts, reactions, revolutions, betrayers, solo artists. Omniscient clock bugs worms stars sun warm dry, omnipresent human tool carry hold follow derail unbroke help impart defect infect perfect delicious.

Canada Yankee

book crasher

Bushy tail lemur is a groupie for the Tim Tayler land shank. Upset the title throat bunker ashen kin. Jilp solid vanity oil extra anal'virjin cows exert zygotes goiter blush actual' vaginal';woozy LONER PASSIVE CLITORIS KESTRAL AXIAL, buenos tardis, mi bonito... say yas